by Jewel Dartt
I'm supposed to marry Guignard on Saturday, but I will long be gone by then. I refuse to be a pawn in a bid to bring peace among our people again.
Miranda stopped reading and flipped to the final pages, noticing the dates. When she had first read the diary, she hadn't paid any attention to the dates. Now, they only served to confirm what Drake had said about how long the loup-garous lived.
She dismissed Drake from her mind, her thoughts returning to her mother. She could feel how passionate her mother had been about her human lover, and could only imagine the hell she had to go through to be with him against the wishes of her family and friends. She wondered if her mother had thought it worth it in the end, to lose so much for the sake of love.
For a long time her mother had written nothing, the blank years a mystery. Only in the last pages had she picked up her account—fifty years later.
Miranda bent her head and read the last few entries written a couple of years before her birth.
April 16, 1969
We've been together fifty years, and despite the hardships and sorrows we have been happy.
In the beginning, Michael searched diligently for a cure for me. He so wanted me to claim my humanity, but we have found nothing but myths and foolish notions that don't mean anything. The years march on and Michael grows older, while I remain young. I know that having to move so often to keep my secret has taken its toll upon my love, and there are times when I think I might have made a mistake in burdening him with my problems. But I love him so, just as he loves me. I don't regret my decision to turn my back on my own kind to be with Michael, and I never will.
I try not to notice when people give us funny looks, especially when they discover we are man and wife. You can see the curiosity in their eyes, the question on their lips, as they watch a man old enough to be my grandfather touch me so lovingly. I want to scream at them to stop staring and leave us in peace, but I don't. Michael wouldn't like it. He tells me over and over that it doesn't matter what others think. He is a kind and wonderful man.
No wonder I love him so much.
If people only knew that I still see my Michael with the eyes of love…to me…he will always be that dashing young man with crystal blue eyes that swept into my life, and made me love him like I have never loved before…or will ever love again. My heart aches at the thought of losing him and I wonder how I can go on living without him by my side?
January 8, 1970
I can't believe it. After all these years, I'm pregnant. We've been so careful not to bring a child into this world—a child torn between our two worlds. But despite our precautions, it has happened. We thought Michael was too old now, but we were wrong. Secretly, I'm delighted. A child means I won't be left alone when Michael dies and leaves me forever.
But another part of me grieves, for what kind of life can my little one expect? Will she be able to control the killing lust as well as a full-blooded loup-garou can? Or will it take her over and destroy her?
I pray nightly for this child, and we have renewed our search for some way our child can claim what is hers, (somehow I feel it is a girl) humanity in its entirety.
For myself, it no longer matters, because without Michael, I no longer care one way or the other. But my poor child, what does the future hold for you? Will you be able to control the savage beast inside of you?
I have no idea, and that's what frightens me the most. There have never been any children born that I can remember of both our worlds. There are laws in my village against it. When I was a girl there were rumors of a child born of a human and werewolf. Dark whispers in the dead of night. I shudder when I think of the old stories about how that child reached maturity and went insane…killing werewolf and human alike.
Of course, it was only a story, something told to frighten us children into minding our mothers and staying away from humans. But still I wonder…
There are nights, endless nights, when I dream about my child and what she will become. I try and take heart from Michael's optimistic nature, and believe as he does, that our child will not inherit my genes. That somehow, through some miracle of fate, only the human part of me will pass on. I pray it will be so.
Nevertheless, the search goes on…because we could be wrong…and if we are, our child will suffer terribly.
Miranda wiped at the tears in her eyes and closed the book. What agony it must have been to watch the man you love grow old before your eyes, while you remain young, the same as you were fifty years before, when you first met. Perhaps it had been a blessing for her mother, that she had died with her beloved Michael in the car accident that had taken their lives.
Had she somehow had a premonition before that fateful night? Was that why she had arranged for Miranda to get her diary so many years later?
"How do you feel?"
She glanced around and saw Hadden, clad in only a pair of jeans, leaning against the doorjamb. She swallowed hard. Her gaze caught on the slight brushing of dark hair forming a v down his chest before disappearing into his jeans, jeans that hugged his form, emphasizing the well-developed muscles in his thighs.
Her heart beat out a tattoo as she drank in the sight of his sheer raw masculinity. And then she remembered.
"I'm…okay," she stammered. "I want to thank you for helping me last night." She tore her gaze away from him with great difficulty.
"Don't thank me," he said. "I really didn't have to do much of anything but fish out the bullet. Your body did the rest."
He came over to stand behind her. "Loosen your robe and lean over, honey. I need to check your back."
Silently, Miranda let the robe slip from her shoulders and bent slightly forward. The feel of his fingers probing her flesh sent shivers of excitement down her spine. She forced herself to remain still and pretend she felt nothing at his touch.
"My God, it's completely healed. If I didn't know you had been shot last night, I would have never believed you had been."
Miranda tried to think of something to say to get his mind off her unusual healing ability. She didn't want to talk about it. It frightened her too much. "I didn't hear you get up," she said, pulling away from him and adjusting her robe.
"You didn't hear the shower running?"
She shook her head, her eyes returning to the journal. "I was going through Cassandra's journal trying to find a reference to a place called Damaina."
He came over and sat down on the edge of the chair armrest. "What is, or should I be asking who is Damaina?"
"It's not a person. It's a place." She looked up at him. "It's the town my birth mother came from."
Hadden gave her a curious look. "How do you know? Does she mention it?"
"Yes, but not in any great detail." She paused for a moment averting her gaze from his. "Drake told me about it," she whispered.
"Drake?"
"The other werewolf," she said in a quiet voice.
"My God, Miranda, you have to stay away from that monster." His dark eyes narrowed. "Is he the reason why you were shot last night?"
Miranda started at the anger in his voice. "No, he had nothing to do with that. That was my fault, I stumbled across the sheriff and his men last night. Drake was nowhere around at the time." Her eyes narrowed. "And for your information, I didn't purposely seek him out. He found me."
Hadden leaned forward. "Did the bastard tell you what he wanted?"
"Yes."
He leaned back a bit so he could look into her eyes. "Well, care to share the tidbit with me?"
She looked down at the book in her hands. "He wants me."
Those three simple words seemed to set Hadden off. He jumped up from his position on the armchair, his dark eyes glowing with fury. "Who the hell does he think he is? I cannot believe he had the audacity to come here and expect you to jump into his arms just like that. Especially not after what he did to Bobby." He paused for a minute to catch his breath. "Not to mention the undeniable fact that you happen to be engaged to me."
Mir
anda let out a sigh. She didn't want to remind him that officially they were no longer engaged. She was afraid that if she did, he would try again to convince her how wrong she was not to marry him. And now more than ever, she felt that she was right to break it off with him.
Instead, she wanted to tell him she could care less about what Drake wanted. It was Damaina that intrigued her. She wanted to know more about the strange world where her mother had lived and loved.
She opened her mouth to speak, when a knock at the front door caught her off guard. Fear seized her as she thought about the men who'd chased her last night. Had the sheriff somehow connected her to the unearthly creature he'd tried to track through the forest? She could hear her heart hammering in her ears, and her palms felt wet and clammy.
She knew it was irrational, but she couldn't help think that somehow Sheriff Banks had discovered the truth about her, and had come to take her away…lock her up forever.
Chapter 8
* * *
Hadden watched as all the color drained out of Miranda's face.
"The sheriff," she whispered, giving him a terror stricken look.
"Don't panic, Miranda. It could be anyone."
She nodded uncertainly and then got to her feet. "What if it is him?"
"Then we'll handle it, baby," he replied, his voice calm. "Go on, get the door."
When she opened the door, Miranda let out a shocked gasp, her hand flying to her throat. "You." Her voice was barely over a whisper, but it was loud enough for Hadden to become alarmed and come forward immediately. He took one look at the smiling, dark-haired stranger, and instinctively knew who he was. Miranda's next words confirmed his worst fear.
"What do you want, Drake? We said everything that needed saying last night."
"Hardly, my sweet. We have so much more to discuss, more than you could possibly imagine.
Hadden felt the blood pound in his temples as he stepped closer, his hands unconsciously clenching into fists by his sides. "You bastard, do you know you almost got Miranda killed last night?"
Drake gave him a cold mocking grin. "I hardly think so, Doctor. We are not that easy to kill off."
"You stay away from her," Hadden muttered between clenched teeth. "She's got enough problems without you making it any worse for her."
For an instant, pure fury surged in Drake's green gaze, a dark wave of menace. Then they went calm and cold, and he smiled a swift brilliant smile. "I don't feel that is your decision to make, Doctor McNeal. If I'm not mistaken, local gossip has it that Miranda stood you up at the altar. I dare say that ends any involvement that you might have with her life. What she does or whom she sees is no longer your concern. I think you are the one who should stay away from her. Miranda is now my responsibility, not yours."
"Why you no good…" Hadden launched himself forward, his powerful fist connecting with the side of Drake's clean-shaven chin in the space of a heartbeat.
In the next instant, Drake charged him with a preternatural speed that caught him unaware, knocking Hadden to the ground, and then casually picking him up like he weighed no more than a rag doll.
Drake shook him twice, hard, and then threw him across the room, the sound of Miranda's screams ringing in Hadden's ears. His vision blurred, and pain ripped through his ribs when he tried to breath, but he fought back the pain and nausea and slowly staggered to his feet. Damned if he'd let this monster get the best of him in front of Miranda! The werewolf would have to kill him to stop him!
Drake, his eyes cold and merciless, came toward him again. "You really should learn how to accept defeat, Doctor."
Hadden could see the killing light in the man's eyes and knew he faced his own death. He had no defense against the superior strength Drake displayed, but he'd be damned if he'd go down without a fight.
He tasted the coppery taste of blood and felt the warmth of it flowing from his nose and mouth. He absently wiped at it with the back of his hand before he launched himself again at his adversary.
"No…stop it!" Miranda screamed, leaping between the two men. "Enough!"
"You should let me kill him, Miranda," Drake said, his voice as calm as if he were discussing the weather instead of death. "He is nothing to either of us. We don't need him in our way as we start our new lives together."
Miranda turned to him, her body trembling with anger. "I thought I made it perfectly clear to you last night that I want nothing to do with you or your ways. Now get out and leave us alone."
She saw anger flash in his eyes, yet, when he spoke he concealed it well. "I'll leave for now, my love. But in time you will come around to my way of thinking. When you do, you'll find me at the Blue Mountain Inn at the edge of town." Drake smiled. "I'll be waiting for you. You were meant to be mine, Miranda, and I mean to have what is mine, no matter what I have to do to get it."
Her throat closed up tight, and when she spoke her words came out in a croak. "Not in this lifetime."
Drake looked amused. "Mmm…we'll see, my love. I always get what I want. Remember that." And then he was gone as suddenly as he'd appeared.
She sucked in a shuddering breath and turned to Hadden. "Are you all right?"
He smiled, but she could see the pain in his face. "Just a couple of bruised ribs, I think. Give me a day or two and I'll be good as new."
"I'm sorry, Hadden. If I had known he would come here, I'd…"
"It's not your fault, honey. I should have known better than to go at him with nothing but my fists." He grinned. "Next time, I'll use a two by four."
She tried to laugh, but it came out in a strangled sob. "He could have killed you, and it would have been because of me. He's crazy, Hadden."
He gathered her in his arms. "Shh…baby. Please don't cry. We are going to find a way to beat that bastard, I promise you. I'm not going to let him take you away from me."
Miranda remained silent, knowing in her heart that no one, not even Hadden, could stop Drake from getting what he wanted.
She remembered him, with ebony black hair intermingled with thin strands of silver, so much like his pelt when in werewolf form, as she had gazed into his features, rugged and dangerous as a sea swept cliff. She had sensed the hint of madness in his piercing green eyes. From the moment she had opened the door to see the man, she instinctively knew he wouldn't stop until he made her his…even if he had to murder Hadden to claim her.
Miranda hugged Hadden closer to her body as if holding him back from the edge of a precipice, fear spilling through her in a cold wash. She would do everything in her power not to let that happen…even if that meant leaving Hadden and going away, somewhere neither man could find her.
A couple of hours later, Miranda stared down at her plate, feeling more than just a little nauseated at the smell and sight of the rich spaghetti sauce Hadden had heaped over her pasta.
"Is something wrong with your food, Miranda?" Hadden asked.
She could hear the concern in his voice and tried to smile. "I'm just not very hungry. All the turmoil over the last couple of days has kind of zapped my appetite."
"You have to eat something. I don't want you passing out from hunger on me." He faltered for a moment, averting his gaze momentarily. "Perhaps if you're not hungry…well, you could fight off the change better. It's worth a try."
Miranda nodded and forced herself to eat a couple of bites. Instantly, an intense feeling of overwhelming sickness flooded through her. With a muffled moan, she cupped her hand over her mouth and ran toward the bathroom, barely making it in time before her rebelling stomach rejected its contents.
Why couldn't she eat normal food? Or perhaps the question was, why couldn't she eat cooked food? Shame engulfed her as she remembered last night, and how she'd gulped down the rabbit Drake had given her. She'd felt no sickness then, and in fact, had hungered for more, much like a woman on a starvation diet. Or a savage beast of the wild, she thought grimly.
The touch of a cool cloth against her forehead brought her head up. Hadden knelt besi
de her; his expression displayed his concern for her.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I never would have encouraged you to eat if I'd known you were sick. Perhaps you're not as fully recovered from last night as I thought."
Miranda leaned into him, taking comfort from the warmth of his body. "I'm not really sick. It's just that, ever since the changes started, I've been able to eat very little." She didn't want him to know that she'd eaten nothing at all in the last few days, except the small animal life she'd caught in the woods, when she was in werewolf form. She knew the knowledge would only serve to worry him more.
Hadden stroked her hair away from her face with a gentle hand. "Miranda, it's going to be dark soon. Perhaps you should lay down and rest before tonight."
She followed him mutely into the bedroom and sat down on the bed, too numb to think about the coming night. Dread seeped inside her when she glanced at the boarded windows and caught a glimpse of the charcoal-smudged sky. She looked away quickly, trying to forget for just a few moments what would happen when the moon came up.
Her gaze wandered over the room and fixed on the door. She let out a tiny sob. Hadden had reinforced the door with plywood before dinner, even though she knew he had little hopes of it containing her once she completed the transformation.
Miranda knew without a doubt he was trying to avoid using the cellar because of her fear of dark, enclosed places, and she loved him more at that moment than she'd ever loved him before. "Hadden, you have to lock me in the cellar," she said, her voice a mere whisper. "It's the only way. I know that now."
He knelt down beside the bed and took her hand in his own. "No, I can't do that to you. Sweetheart, it'll work tonight. I used every piece of wood I could find to fix that damn door, and I even reinforced the windows." He smiled crookedly. "Hell, a tank couldn't bust out of here. I think it will hold you."